


Working Through

by DirtyBrian



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyBrian/pseuds/DirtyBrian
Summary: Sometimes, it's nice to be reminded that you're not alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this can be read as Hardy x Miller otp and/or brotp. I wrote this before I really shipped them, so it was written with a non-romantic mindset. c:

“D’you want cranberries on your salad, Miller?” He waved the packet over his shoulder to the other detective, turning his head when he didn’t hear her answer. The music in the other room was turned up, some oldies station that she insisted on listening to whenever she came over…which recently, was more often than not. He figured she probably got distracted by some tune or another and repeated his question a little louder.

“I hate salad, you know.” Her voice was sullen, and she made a face at him.

“I do too, but you won’t bloody let me eat what I want. So if I have to eat like a rabbit, then so do you.” Without waiting for an answer, he sprinkled the dried fruit on her greens and turned towards the table, setting the plate over the pile of case files strewn over the entire surface.

Ellie picked up her fork and dug in with a resigned shrug. “So what d’you think the bluebells mean?”

“No idea,” he said around his own mouthful of greens. “Pippa’s body was found in a bluebell field, so maybe the killer is mocking us. He knew that if he sent the letter to Claire that I’d eventually see it. I’m just surprised she didn’t show me right off.”

“Maybe she’s scared. Can’t say I blame her.” She speared a mushroom on her fork, liberally coating it in dressing before popping it in her mouth. “I regret telling you to eat healthy now. I can smell the chippy from here and it’s driving me mad.”

Something akin to a smile flashed across Hardy’s face for a moment, and he looked down at the plate with disdain. “If you want me to survive the trial, then I’ll have to eat my spinach, won’t I? Can’t leave you to deal with the defense on your own.”

His words were innocent enough, but lately any mention of the trial set Ellie’s heart racing. She swallowed heavily, the food in her mouth suddenly feeling like a brick. The sight of Joe in that glass case was bad enough, but to know for certain that he’d killed Danny Latimer and then had the gall to plead not guilty was maddening.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was glad Hardy was there. He at least gave her a distraction from her life crumbling to pieces, and she supposed it was the same for him. It was a lot easier to focus on someone else’s problems, rather than sit and watch as your life shattered around you. The man was ornery and stubborn as an ox, but he was the only person in Broadchurch who didn’t look at her with sympathy or disdain, and it hadn’t slipped Ellie’s notice that he was probably her best friend in town.

After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Ellie sighed and picked up her fork again. She asked a quiet question about the significance of the bluebells in the Sandbrook case, but in the middle of Hardy’s explanation about how the Pippa’s body had been found in a field of them, the song on the radio changed into a tune that made her blood run cold.

“Miller?”

“Don’t call me that.” She didn’t want to be reminded of the name she’d taken.

“…Ellie?”

“Ugh, God. Don’t call me that either.”

“What the bloody hell should I call you, then?!”

“I don’t know, all right!” She didn’t mean to shout, didn’t mean to stand up so hard she nearly upended both of their lunches. Everything was just fucking going to pieces and she couldn’t handle it anymore, couldn’t handle the guilt and the stress and the hurt and the betrayal. The last thing she wanted to do was start crying in front of him, but who the hell else was she going to cry in front of?

Crossing to the other side of the room Ellie raised her hand to shut off the radio, but instead found herself turning up the volume slightly.

“This was our wedding song,” she whispered, a tear trickling down her cheek as  _ Unchained Melody _ wafted through the small room. “We made a promise to each other, to love and cherish. In sickness and in health, and all that nonsense.” She sniffed and turned towards Hardy, who was looking at her carefully.

“He was my husband. I loved him, I loved him so much. And he…my God, it would have been better if he’d died or something.” Her voice shook, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “I just wish I didn’t have all these memories with him. Every day I think of something new, some new heartbreak that didn’t occur to me. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together, and now I’m completely alone.”

It wasn’t until he was right in front of her that Ellie even noticed that Hardy had stood up. He shifted from side to side, hair mussed and an uncertain look on his face. “Miller,” he said quietly, and this time she didn’t wince at the name. “You know as well as I do that me telling you I’m sorry isn’t going to help anything.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she almost smiled, knowing how uncomfortable he was touching people. “But you’re not alone in this, all right? You’ve got Tom, even if he’s mad at you. You’ve got the other one…Fred.”

“The day you remember his name right off the bat is the day I die of shock.” Despite herself, Ellie gave him a watery smile, and his visage softened slightly. He tilted his head towards the music, then turned it up a little bit.

“Dance?” He looked her, something like nervousness passing over his features before he schooled them into a neutral mask. Ellie stared at him in shock for a moment before grabbing his proffered hand, her body falling into the familiar position without her really thinking about it. She kept her gaze above his right shoulder, trying to process this sweet but thoroughly awkward gesture. He must have noticed the thoughtful look on her face. “You don’t have to look so thrilled, Miller. If you don’t want to dance, we don’t have to,” he mumbled gruffly. She shook herself and took a breath, giving him a small smile.

“Don’t know that I’d have pegged you for the dancing type.” She kept her tone light as they swayed to the music. That was an understatement. This was the most physical contact they’d had…ever. Which wasn’t unusual, given their hierarchy at the station, but she never saw him as someone who was particularly tactile. She’d never seen him give someone a hug, let alone offer to dance with a grieving friend.

“I’m not. But Tess insisted I take lessons before we got married. And it’s not like it’s rocket science, is it?” He was right, especially considering they weren’t really dancing so much as just rocking back and forth. He was stiff, body tense as he held her at arms’ length. But he was trying, at least making an attempt to be there for her, and it meant the world. They continued their sort-of-dance, lost in their own thoughts, until the last chords of the song faded.

“Thank you, sir.”

He chuckled, low in his throat at the title, and she felt him relax somewhat. “Don’t expect it to be a regular thing. Just…figured that maybe you’d want a different memory to go along with this song.”

The genuine caring behind his stammered words hit Ellie like a freight train, and she felt her eyes well up again. “Who’d have thought that you’re just a big softy, eh?” Her voice shook, but she met his gaze steadily, trying to convey her gratitude for everything he was at least trying to do for her.

“Yeah, well, don’t let it get around. Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation.” He sniffed nonchalantly, and Ellie would have sworn that she saw a teasing glimmer in his dark eyes.

“As a wanker? Nah, wouldn’t want that.” Her sincere smiled turned slightly impish for a moment and, on impulse, she pulled him close into a hug, laughing out loud when he squawked in protest.

“Miller! The hell are you—“

“Shut up a minute.” She held him close, resting her chin on his shoulder as her arms wrapped securely around his torso. “M’trying to tell you I’m glad you stuck around, you ornery git.”

He grumbled something about her and her displays of affection, but to her surprise she felt a pair of arms around her shoulders. “Someone has to keep you in line, I suppose. Bloody menace of a detective.” His tone was teasing and, for the first time since she’d learned what Joe had done, she felt like she wasn’t alone. That maybe…just maybe she’d survive this.

But only if she had this fool of a D.I. to dance with every once in a while.

 


End file.
